


Nine Hearts

by Llama



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Office, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:52:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/pseuds/Llama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which McKay is a demanding boss and Sheppard gets fired a lot. Which is more of a surprise than you might think, considering she doesn't actually have a job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trobadora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/gifts).



> Written for McShep Match 2013, but mostly for trobadora, a long overdue gift for the best co-mod ever *g*

The best thing about harassing Sam Carter at work used to be the free coffee. Colorado Personalized Dessert Molds Inc. always had surprisingly good coffee. Also there was this poster that proclaimed 'See Your Name on Jell-o!' that was so awful it bordered on hypnotic, but that was more of a reminder that even with no clear plans for the future after leaving the USAF, Colonel Jane Sheppard's life could be much, much emptier.

There were days when she really needed that reminder.

Ever since Sam had moved departments, however, there was a whole new level of entertainment to be gained by distracting her from her ground-breaking high tech dessert mold research. Entertainment that was right now clearly audible behind the door marked **M. R. McKay, Snr. Mngr.**

This particular door was renowned for the regularity with which it exploded outwards to eject a tearful (three to five points), sulky (just the one point) or fuming (two points unless something ended up broken) employee. Sheppard was gratified when the door did just that as she perched on the end of Sam's desk. Just in time for the show.

“-- and don't think I won't fire you next time, Kavanagh!” 

The door slammed shut behind a lanky guy, presumably Kavanagh. He looked more than a little stunned from the experience. Was that a tear?

From the buzz that went up, apparently it was. 

“Another three points for Hurricane McKay,” Radek said, and pulled up a complicated-looking spreadsheet. He hummed to himself, sounding pleased. “This could be a record-breaking week. You want in on the pool again, Colonel?” 

“Sure,” Sheppard said. “Just add ten to the highest guess so far.” Something that might have been a shoe hit the window from the inside, and Sheppard couldn't help grinning. “Better make that twenty, Radek.”

Behind the windows, Sheppard could see McKay pacing up and down-- well, no, mostly she could see McKay's _hair_ pacing up and down. Even when she wore it down it was a whole lot of hair, but all piled up on top of her head it looked like a miracle of engineering. How the hell did it even stay up like that?

“Not that it isn't always good to see you, Jane,” Sam said, “but why are you here?”

Sheppard shrugged, and slid off the desk. “I don't have a TV,” she said, and stole Sam's mug. 

 

When Sheppard pushed McKay's office door open without so much as a tap for the sake of politeness, it was as if the whole office held its breath behind her.

“What now?” McKay yelled, popping up from behind the desk. Her face was flushed an unattractive shade of red and the miracle of engineering didn't look quite so miraculous from close up-- long strands and curls of hair were escaping from various places. In one hand she held a shiny, spiky-heeled shoe as if it was a weapon. 

Had she been threatening that Kavanagh guy with it? Sheppard decided she didn't want to know.

“Drink?” she asked instead, holding up the stolen mug. 

McKay just stared at her until Sheppard raised an eyebrow. Did nobody ever include McKay in their tea and coffee rounds? Now that she thought about it, she didn't remember seeing anyone traipse in and out of this office with drinks.

“That's not my mug,” McKay said, eyeing Sheppard with suspicion. She lowered the stiletto though.

It was a start. 

“No,” Sheppard agreed easily. “See, how it works is that you give me _your_ mug, which I can hold with my _other_ hand--” She waved it, for demonstration. “--and I take it away and fill it up with whatever you want.” She sniffed Sam's mug. “I think this one was camomile tea.”

McKay looked like someone had asked her to drink cyanide. Sheppard could sympathise.

“Coffee,” she said finally. Her desk was piled high, but after a bit of a rummage she managed to produce a mug. “Black. And chocolate chip cookies.” She moaned loudly, and crashed back into her chair. “God, I need chocolate chip cookies.”

“I think you already ate them all,” Sheppard said, looking at the debris of crumbs and wrappers that the disturbance had revealed along with the mug.

“I can't be expected to survive in the cut-throat world of personalized dessert molds on lettuce leaves and camomile tea,” McKay said, shovelling half the contents of her desk into the trash can. “Seriously, chocolate chip cookies. Or I'll have to fire you.”

There weren't any chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen, of course, but somehow a couple ended up on McKay's desk along with a steaming mug of fresh coffee. 

And even though McKay fired her anyway – “Really, an _hour_? Did you go to Brazil and pick the beans yourself? – Sheppard still caught herself grinning when she strolled back to Sam's desk.

Sam shook her head. “You're so cute when you have a crush,” she said, and Radek spluttered tea all over his desk.

 

When McKay marched right up to her the next day, Sheppard was expecting to be slung out of the office, or at least have her presence questioned. Not that she planned on leaving, but still. It seemed likely an attempt would be made.

Instead: “You,” McKay said, pointing at Sheppard with an imperious finger. “Whatever your name is. Coffee, pronto. And lunch-- something with meat in it, none of that rabbit food!” Her pointy heels screeched obnoxiously on the floor as she swung around to stalk back into her office.

“Does she not remember firing me?” Sheppard asked, confused. 

“She probably doesn't remember you at all,” Sam said, patting her on the knee, and that was... a new experience. Sheppard was used to making an impression on people, even when she didn't particularly want to. “I'm sure it's nothing personal,” Sam continued. “She can't remember Radek's name, and she's fired him twice.”

“The working theory is that it's a three strikes system,” Radek added. “But we don't have any proof of that. It may be that she just enjoys firing people. If anyone actually left, she'd have nobody left to shout at after a few weeks.”

“So we just ignore it,” Sam said brightly. “You should probably do the same.”

Sam was right, she probably should. It was just that ignoring it didn't sound like any fun at all.

 _Fun_ was bringing back a coffee loaded with cream and six sugars and watching McKay take a sip without looking. (She always did.) Fun was extra hot sauce on a turkey sandwich (“You said anything with meat, McKay!”), using her contacts to get a discount on a company paintballing afternoon (“I hate you. I hate you _so much_ ), and telling everyone that the 'M' in 'M. R. McKay' stood for Megalomaniac (“It's _Mansfield_ , smartass-- oh my god, don't ever laugh in my presence again, and by the way, you're _fired_.")

“You do know that I don't actually work here, right?” Sheppard said eventually. She was sitting on the floor of McKay's office, because when McKay worked up a real head of steam things could get pretty messy. It was either put the memos and quarterly accounts pages that were strewn all over the floor back into some sort of order or go and listen to Sam and Radek trash talk each other about paintball.

Sheppard's money was on Sam, all the way.

“You don't?” McKay said. “Huh.”

“I thought they'd tell you when you tried to get me fired,” Sheppard said, though she had her own theories about that. She paused mid-shuffle. “Or could you just not remember my name?” McKay might not even _know_ it, she realised, and that was-- not the explanation she was rooting for, really.

McKay snorted. “Please, of course I know your name. You're the only person around here that's even vaguely tolerable.”

Sheppard couldn't help grinning at that. “Even when you hate me?”

“Don't pretend to be stupid, it doesn't suit you,” McKay said, narrowing her eyes. She reached over to the whiteboard propped up next to her desk and turned it around. 

Sheppard thought at first that it was what Radek had been talking about: a record of strikes against employees for every firing. And it sort of was, because there were three symbols under all the names, some of them crossed out, but-- 

“Are those _hearts_?” Sheppard couldn't help the incredulous note in her voice. There was something beyond incongruous about McKay drawing little heart symbols under the names of the employees she terrorised on a daily basis. 

And then she got it.

“They're _lives_ ,” she gasped, and knelt up for a closer look. “You gave us lives, like we're in a videogame, and you've been crossing them off. I didn't know you were a secret gamer, McKay.”

“Yes, yes. But you're missing the point, as usual,” McKay huffed. She tapped one chipped scarlet talon against the board under 'Sheppard, J.' 

Where there were _nine_ heart symbols. Nine. Not three. And if anyone asked, Sheppard's pleased grin was because she'd managed to get eight of them crossed out in just over a week, and not because McKay clearly liked her at least three times as much as any of her actual employees.

“Aww, McKay, that's so sweet,” she said, but she couldn't help noticing that there were no more than two lives crossed off for anyone else on the board. Radek really had been pretty close. She had to ask. “What happens when I lose the last life?” 

McKay scowled and pulled the whiteboard back. “Beat my team at paintball tomorrow and you'll find out.”

 

Sheppard had never paid much attention to clothes or fashion, but even she could tell that McKay's style of dress was proof that money couldn't buy taste. Hell, a monkey could have dressed her better by pulling out garments at random.

There was a particular satisfaction then, when she had McKay cornered, to realizing that her opponent had not only shown up to paintballing in her everyday office clothes, but also that nobody so far had dared to shoot at her.

“You don't have to look like you're enjoying this so much!” McKay yelled when the first shot hit her. She fired back, but Sheppard was in too much cover even if it had been anywhere near on target. 

“But I am!” Sheppard yelled back, taking a second shot, and a third. “You have no idea how much!” With any luck, McKay's outfit would be ruined. One down, god only knew how many more monstrosities to go. “I'm doing this for everyone out there who's ever had a demanding boss!”

Demanding or not, Sheppard almost felt sorry for McKay when the siren went off signalling the end of the battle. Not that they'd been playing by the rules in their little scrap, exactly. She didn't have a clue which team had won, but McKay was a wreck either way – her hair was streaked with blue paint, and yes, those clothes were never going to be the same. She scrambled up the muddy embankment she'd rolled down in a final attempt to get away with her high heels in her hands, using them for extra grip, and for a moment when Sheppard reached out to offer her a hand up, she thought McKay was going to give her a stiletto to the palm. Instead McKay sighed, dropped her shoes, and let Sheppard pull her up.

There was a moment, when McKay stumbled and almost fell into Sheppard's arms, where she thought-- but McKay caught her balance and the moment passed.

“You did great, you know,” Sheppard offered as they walked back to the base, McKay silent with slumped shoulders. 

McKay snorted. “Don't humor me.”

“No, really.” Sheppard nudged her with an elbow. “You've had no training, you weren't dressed for it – that's your own fault, I could have found you something – but you took everything I threw at you, you never surrendered and you kept fighting back.”

“Oh,” McKay said, and she sounded surprised. “That's-- well, thanks.” She straightened up her shoulders a bit until she looked almost like herself again. “I did do quite well, didn't I? I hit you once, anyway.” She poked at a paint splodge on Sheppard's chest, then seemed to realise what she'd done and turned a little pink under the paint as she pulled her hand away abruptly. “Um, sorry, I--”

Sheppard caught her hand. “It's okay,” she said, and McKay nodded, but she seemed distracted. She didn't seem to notice that Sheppard still had hold of her hand as they continued up the path, even when other colleagues stumbled past them in various states of mud- and paint-covered disarray. Sheppard couldn't help notice that her team looked considerably more cheerful than McKay's on the whole. Looked like she was going to find out what happened when all nine lives were gone, then.

“You're going to need clean clothes,” Sheppard said when they reached a fork in the path, and she pulled McKay off towards the house instead of the base camp.

“What? This isn't the--” McKay spluttered, but Sheppard kept a firm grip on her hand. 

“I'm staying in the guest rooms at the house until I find my own place,” she said. “The owners are friends of mine, that's why we got the discount.”

“We're going to your room?” McKay asked, and her hand suddenly seemed warmer in Sheppard's grip. “Are you planning to seduce me, Sheppard? Because I want to make it clear I am completely okay with that. More than okay with it, even.”

“Good to know,” Sheppard said, though she couldn't hide her grin as she unlocked the door to the guest wing. “But first--”

“First?” McKay gasped out as Sheppard pushed her up against the wall. 

“First I'm going to take these clothes off you,” Sheppard said, struggling with the buttons of McKay's fussy blouse. 

“Oh, it's ruined anyway, just rip it,” McKay said. She wrapped broad, strong fingers around Sheppard's long ones and _pulled_.

Sheppard laughed, and managed to get a grip on McKay's skirt fastening and yanked it down just as McKay worked her way into Sheppard's jeans. The remainder of their clothes disappeared somewhere between the door and the shower room, and they tumbled in under the spray, McKay's hair scattering pins and streaking them both with blue as the water hit them.

McKay was pale and soft next to Sheppard's sun-browned skin, but not delicate; not breakable. She pushed back into every touch, bit at Sheppard's lips and neck and shoulders, scratched what was left of her nails down Sheppard's spine, and grabbed her hand to get the pressure just where she wanted it.

“God, yes, like that,” she moaned, letting her head fall back as Sheppard pushed two fingers inside her. She was solid heat in Sheppard's arms, and wet, delicious skin under Sheppard's mouth, keeping her palm pressed down on Sheppard's where it rubbed against her clit until she clenched down hard, and her nails scrabbled wildly at Sheppard's arm and waist.

“Oh my god,” she said, and kissed Sheppard under the streaming water, over and over. “My turn,” she said, eventually, and “Bed,” and there might have been other words involved but Sheppard was too busy being manhandled into the bedroom and then marveling at the astonishing _rightness_ of McKay's face buried between her legs to even care.

 

“Roanne,” Sheppard said. Her eyes were still shut, her short hair still damp and plastered uncomfortably to her forehead. McKay was a wall of heat against one side of her body while the breeze from the window left the other side slightly chilled.

“That's not a real name,” McKay scoffed. 

“Knew a girl called that in high school,” Sheppard said. “Rhonda?”

“Where are you getting these from?” McKay nudged her in the side. “That's not even close.”

“I don't think there's an 'R' name that suits you anyway,” Sheppard told her. “I'd call you-- Veronica. That's a good name.” She opened one eye. “Yeah, Veronica. It suits you.”

“Everyone would call me Ronnie,” McKay said. 

“Ronnie!” Sheppard opened the other eye. “I like it.”

“That's a _boy's_ name,” McKay grumbled. “I'm not having a boy's name.”

“Well excuse me, _Mansfield_.”

“I don't even know why we're having this conversation,” McKay said. “When we could be having more sex.” She looked meaningfully at where Sheppard's hand lay across her leg, and started to shuffle round.

It was a good point, but they still had a problem.

“I can't introduce you to everyone as 'McKay' forever,” she said, stopping the hand that was heading along her thigh. “You don't like your first name, and even if you did, my name is _Jane_. There's no way we are being 'Jane and Mansfield'. Why can't we use your middle name? It can't be that bad.”

McKay huffed out a sigh. Then she examined her nails, but they were a lost cause. “It's 'Raquel',” she admitted finally, and _fuck_ , what could you even say to that?

“I'm calling you 'Ronnie',” Sheppard said decisively. “Deal with it.” She followed it up with a kiss to sweeten the deal, and she could feel when McKay caved underneath her.

“It's a good thing I like you,” McKay complained when she came up for air. 

“Nine hearts worth of like,” Sheppard grinned. “Hey, I think my team won. Does that mean I'm now really, really fired from the job I don't have?”

McKay rolled her eyes. “You're not getting away that easily. I suppose I'll have to give you another nine lives to throw away.”

“I've got a better idea,” Sheppard said, and pressed a kiss to McKay's stomach as she slid down the bed. McKay's eyes widened above her as she realised where Sheppard was going. “Why don't I earn them all, one by one?”

“Works for me,” McKay said, settling back on the bed with a grin almost as wide as Sheppard's. “You'd better make it good, though. I'm reliably informed that I'm a very demanding boss.”


End file.
